Read with BonusRead with Bonus

Ana Oliveira

Present Day...

It's strange to think about how much I've changed over the years. I used to see colors in everything after I discovered love. Lately, I've only been seeing life in shades of gray, as if I'm eternally lost in a storm. There were certain moments when I could catch glimpses of crimson, the color of the hate I felt, the infernal rage that consumed me when I had to face the consequences of Josiah’s outbursts.

As I walked down the beige ceramic-tiled stairs from the small yellow veranda to the front yard, the smell that hit me was of rot, of things dead and putrefied. I had noticed the foul odor when I took my baby to daycare, but standing here, it seemed a thousand times worse. I pulled a white bandana from the back pocket of my denim shorts, tied it around my hair, taming the wavy brown strands that cascaded beside my face, pulling them back like a peasant from an old movie. That way, I could have a clear view of the mess on my sidewalk.

I glanced at Mrs. Helena's house across the street, the neighbor with the wooden house and colonial roof. Every now and then, I’d see her on the second-floor veranda, knitting in a rocking chair, watching the street through her half-moon glasses. She only rushed inside when the rough crowd arrived at the tattoo studio next to my house; after all, everyone hated the ruckus they made, with their gang of rockers, tattoo artists, and women around the neighborhood... I shook my head at the thought as I walked to the jacaranda tree in front of her house. That majestic tree was the envy of the neighborhood, especially when it bloomed like today, flaunting its beauty in shades of lilac. I stopped right under its foliage, taking a good look at the damage done by the filth on my gate. I took the chance to glance at the container house, as black as night and set up in two stories. You could see the yard because of the modern facade with black grates, as well as the iron gate with gaps. It was a nice, modern house, with an outside staircase leading to the tattoo studio on the second floor. The massive glass windows would give a perfect view of the interior if Josiah didn’t always keep the curtains closed.

Returning to my sidewalk, I positioned the black trash bin on the right side of the gate and used a broom to gather the eggshells and other debris left by my neighbor’s attack. The rancid smell was nauseating, and I was probably not the only one suffering from it; the odor must have been seeping into his house too. But Josiah’s car wasn’t in the garage, so the only one getting screwed over was me.

Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!

With the help of a dustpan, I tossed everything into the trash bin. Finally, I used a hose to wash everything down with soap and water. I took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and checked the silver watch on my wrist. It had only been an hour since I dropped Julia off at daycare, and she would be there until late afternoon. It was my small daily escape, a time to organize the house and my mind. If I didn’t have the daycare or her grandmother, Marta, I would’ve certainly lost it by now.

The wide streets of the neighborhood were quiet, the children were following their school routine, the adults were working... or most of them, anyway. I could hear some birds flying in pairs, making sounds as they moved between two trees. The street’s lawns were neatly trimmed, and a few cars were parked in front of houses. If it weren’t for the personal hell I was living with my tormentor, or some nosy neighbors, this place would be the perfect home. I knew I wasn’t the only one tired of Josiah, of the chaos he brought to the area. But who would stand up to him? Everyone knew who his father was, and no one was willing to pay the price of crossing him; his powerful daddy wouldn’t let it slide. I could hear the old man’s voice, with that yellowish smile, repeating, "We do everything for family, Ana."

Every now and then, I considered the idea my therapist suggested... the idea of leaving that house, of living in peace. But I couldn’t do it, even if I wanted to. There was too much history in those walls, too many memories of things that would never return.

The sun blazed in yet another day of Rio's summer, fierce and selfish under the blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, showing that the next few days would be just as hot. With my cheeks flushed from the heat, I decided to splash my face with the hose and felt immense relief. It was refreshing and relaxing. I don’t know how long I stayed there, relieved, breathing, existing as the water trickled down my face, washing away the sweat and exhaustion.

"They say one day the world’s water will run out..." a sultry, female voice warned, as I heard her chewing gum and popping those disgusting bubbles like she always did. I knew who it was: Isabela... "Maybe there are more cows like you in the world, wasting everything."

I held back the curse on the tip of my tongue as I let the hose drop to the ground, not bothering to dry my face. I placed my hands on my thighs and took a deep breath. If she was here, Josiah was back. It was unusual for him to show up the day after he pulled something on me. I did what a child would do: ignored her. If I didn’t look, she wouldn’t be there. I walked inside my yard and turned off the black faucet, which almost touched the ground. As I went back to roll up the hose, my suspicions were confirmed: Josiah’s black Ranger was parked across the street, with his crew around it. Isabela was sitting on the truck’s bed, her red hair tied up in a bun on top of her head. She stared at me with her black, mascara-smeared eyes, a look she always did on purpose. Her septum piercing was always crooked, the ring twisted to one side of her face. That always triggered my OCD, and my left eye twitched with irritation. Why couldn’t she ever fix that damn thing?

I continued, picking up the transparent hose and starting to coil it between my left hand and elbow. My heart was racing, and instead of sweating from the heat, I started sweating cold. I disguised the trembling in my hands by speeding up my movements, and finally looked at Josiah, who was leaning against the driver’s side door. His black hair was wet, falling over the sides of his forehead. He stared at me like a cobra, his square jaw clenched. His thick eyebrows were raised, taunting me. They seemed to challenge me. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was a damn good-looking bastard, always had been. He wore a loose black T-shirt, hanging low under his armpits, dark pants, and combat boots. I tried not to stare at the maze of tattoos covering his body, his arms, and his neck. There were so many that I could hardly glance without being caught staring. But there was so much going on that I almost couldn’t help it. Like his gauges, one in each ear, larger than the last time I’d noticed them. He had completely transformed his body, as if he had swallowed the Josiah I once knew, or killed him and replaced him with this new version. A heavy, complex, and dark version.

Isabela moved, rocking the truck as she climbed down from the bed. I finished rolling up the hose and kept ignoring her insult. I never understood how she could wear combat boots in that heat. They looked good with those denim shorts and the dark red top. But it was obviously hot...

" Ever heard of a bra?" Harry asked as soon as he got out of Josiah’s passenger seat and stood beside him.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter